Remembrance
by Lady Lich
Summary: Iretila never bothered with her past - too blurry to remember. But now, as her life as a Forsaken progresses, some events from her first life begin to unfold, along with some dark secrets, that perhaps should have stayed forgotten.


**Disclaimer: I don't own World of Warcraft (or the story, or whatever). I'm just entertaining myself.**

**A/N: The names/characters are from old friends I used to play with. They were awesome - until they stopped playing . I guess we all have to get back to reality eventually. **

The day was unnaturally long. Too long, for Iretila's taste. She figured it was more due to the incompetence of those she was working with, rather than the hours the sun loomed overhead. Shaaroon didn't seem content either, shifting his double-sided axe restlessly in his arms.

Goblins weren't the best company, Iretila had noted. Consumed by greed, the green little things were. They seemed completely oblivious to everything, besides their own goals. And the way they spoke! If she heard one more say "time is money, friend" she'd have Shaaroon hack them in half.

Perhaps it was just the ridiculous errand she was running for her friend, Xenus. The blood elf had insisted that she march Soungaa – her Dreadsteed – all the way to Gadgetzan, and find him a stack of mageweave cloth for a decent price at the neutral auction house. Apparently, the only mageweave for sale at the auction houses of the four capital Horde cities was "ridiculously overpriced". Figuring that she had nothing better to do – and that she owed Xenus for saving her butt in Nagrand – the Forsaken warlock trekked with her brooding Felguard to Tanaris.

The auction house wasn't too dependable, as Iretila soon found out. After twenty fruitless minutes of trying to persuade the auctioneer in reducing the price of the cloth, Iretila gave up, and milled around the city, trying to make the trip somewhat worth her while. So far, she had only succeeded in frightening a small gnome with pink hair out of her wits. It wasn't her fault Shaaroon accidentally dropped his axe centimeters from where the gnome stood.

"Are we done here, Iretila?" Shaaroon asked impatiently. Shaaroon usually spoke in Demonic in the presence of others, preferring to keep his conversations with his master confidential. Iretila somewhat liked the twisted language as well, earning suspicious glances when speaking it in public. Not just suspicious – shocked. Eredun – or Demonic – was considered a language that would eat away at sanity and morality by those who were foolish with the language. No one spoke in the tongue besides the demons of the Legion. Iretila gave little thought to it, or how "her sanity was still normal". She'd been speaking Demonic for as long as she could remember

"Yes, I suppose we are. Xenus will just have to suck it up and empty some gold from his bank."

She could hardly care less how the mage would react. Hell, Xenus had so many people who owed him favors he could just borrow some money from them. The elf was too kind, too willing, and far, far too trustful. He'd yet to receive a knife between his ribs, being in good favor with practically everyone he met.

Iretila – and a few other acquaintances – had a different situation. There was quite a good deal of people who'd love to slit her throat. Not that Shaaroon would let them get close enough. They'd be a mangled, bloody corpse before the thought even crossed their mind. A grin tugged at the corners of her lips.

The warlock rummaged through her sack, bony fingers wrapping around a hearthstone. Shaaroon stood next to her, eyes shifting uneasily. _Always ready for an attack,_Iretila thought with a wry chuckle. She didn't answer when the Felguard eyed her questioningly. The hearthstone was activated, the green light illuminating it. In seconds they would be back in the dark sanctuary of the Undercity.

Despite all the times she'd used the hearthstone – or used any portal – Iretila had never quite grown accustomed to it. There was a flash of light, and her view of Gadgetzan and all the wide-eye goblins had been replaced with the stone walls of the Undercity. Her eyes took a moment to adjust, the ghoulish yellow covered momentarily by a few rapid blinks.

"So, what do you feel up to now?" Iretila asked Shaaroon carelessly, strolling towards the inn. She'd send a letter to Xenus, rather than relaying the unsuccessful mission to him in person.

Shaaroon frowned for a moment, his slit-like mouth slightly open, magenta eyes pondering. When they were working with others, many – well, all – found Iretila's relationship with her demon strange. Unlike most warlocks, Iretila considered Shaaroon a loyal companion, rather than minion to do whatever she pleased. Although the latter was true, Iretila never once had Shaaroon call her "master". She regarded the Felguard's views the way she would with any close friend.

She was indeed an unusual warlock.

Iretila didn't look up to greet the Innkeeper Norman as she approached the mailbox. Snatching a bottle of ink and paper from her pack, Iretila used her bony index finger to write.

**Xenus, **

**It looks like your going to have to buy some mageweave at the auction house in Orgrimmar. The cloth in Gadgetzan was just as expensive – if not more. I don't know why you send me on your errands, although no doubt I owe you. I'd just appreciate a mission that put my skills to better use. **

**I heard rumors that a group was going to raid Astranaar. Sounds like fun, eh? I wouldn't mind killing a few elves – no offense intended. Night elves, to be more exact. I heard the group was going to head out tomorrow at the crack of dawn. How about it? We could rally up Morgaly and Redbanks; I'll leave that job to you... **

**I'd better see you there. If not, I'll send Shaaroon to hunt you down. You mages can't be too fond of axe-wielding demons. **

**-Iretila**

Yes, that looked alright. Iretila folded the letter, and then shoved it into the mailbox, wondering when it would be delivered.

Sighing, she turned to Shaaroon, running white fingers through her purple, waist-length hair. "Have you decided?"

The Felguard's mouth split into a Machiavellian grin, his muscular, armored fingers gripping his massive axe. "Well," he began in a deep voice that only the warlock who controlled it could trust, "We have some time before that raid. Let's see how the Alliance fares when _we _enter the Arathi Basin."

An excited smile broke across the warlock's face, dandelion eyes gleaming.


End file.
